Epilogophilia: Rolling Thunder
by cheride
Summary: Just a drive through the desert.


_Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction for entertainment purposes only. The characters and concepts of Hardcastle & McCormick do not belong to me, but to their creators._

_Rating: K_

**Author's Note:** Way back in the day when we published _Pastiche a Trois_, the first volume of STAR for Brian fanfic, we decided to fill in some missing moments with epilogues to various episodes. That tradition continued through the next three volumes, too, where we took a stab at some of our favorite eps of the series. It could just be that for volume number five we'll go back and have a go at some of the ones we left by the wayside the first time through. In the meantime, though, this—of course—was the first one.

And, as always, many thanks to everyone who has stood by us on the road to the Walk of Fame.

* * *

_**Rolling**_ **_Thunder—_**_epilogue by Cheride_

_Judge Milton C, Hardcastle, on the eve of his retirement, encounters paroled ex-con and ex-race driver, Mark McCormick—a man he sentenced to prison for auto theft two and a half years earlier. McCormick is under arrest again, this time for stealing a car from industrialist Martin Cody. Mark believes Cody murdered the car's designer, Flip Johnson._

_Hardcastle believes this tale, puts McCormick's case in judicial stay, and agrees to help him nail Cody, in exchange for his services as 'fast gun' (and even faster driver) in the judge's proposed retirement program—going after the ones who 'got away' on technicalities._

_At the end of the episode, the judge and Mark are in Las Vegas, Cody's in jail for murder, Flip's daughter gives Mark the prototype car, and, oops, McCormick is due in Los Angeles for a meeting with his parole officer in only three hours. _

At first, it had seemed almost like a game. Racing along the highway, speeding toward Los Angeles with the Nevada State Police charging after him, the adrenalin had been pumping. And when he'd crossed into California and a new set of patrol cars had picked up the chase, he'd still been laughing, confident in the knowledge that these guys couldn't catch him.

But somewhere along a long stretch of interstate 15, it had occurred to him that he was going to have to stop for gas eventually, and then there was going to be trouble. He was never going to make it to Dalem's office by five o'clock, and he was pretty sure that pleading incarceration in another jurisdiction wasn't going to be much of a defense for missing his parole meeting.

And that's when Mark McCormick began to wonder just what the hell Milton Hardcastle was setting him up for. The guy had to know when he'd given him tacit permission to make the desert crossing at illegal speeds that he'd be an immediate target for any cop with a quota to fill. And the judge also had to know that he wouldn't be able to stop for the citation, as that would be an immediate trip to the local slammer, as they'd almost discovered on the trip out from California.

So, did the judge intend him to end up behind bars out here in the middle of nowhere on traffic charges, or did he really intend him to miss his meeting back in LA and wind up busted for parole violations? Either way, the result was him sitting in a jail cell again just when he thought he'd finally put that behind him, even if it had taken something akin to a deal with the devil to make it happen.

McCormick grimaced as he glanced into the rearview mirror again and saw the CHiPs still sticking with him. And completely unbidden, the thought came to him that there were plenty of roads leading off the highway, and it might be simple enough to get lost in small town America long enough to wind his way back, maybe toward Arizona, and then continue farther to parts unknown.

He dragged a hand through his wind-blown hair and let the thought play itself out. Really, just a bit more speed, and he could put enough distance between himself and his pursuers that he could lose them easily. Hardcastle wouldn't have the slightest idea where to look, and that would put an end to this whole crazy Lone Ranger and Tonto idea before it even got going. He could admit that the thought had some merit. Except . . .

Except that Hardcastle had promised only one thing: if they teamed up, they'd get Martin Cody. And, exactly as planned, Cody was sitting in jail right this minute, awaiting extradition back to California. He was going away for a long time. Could that be repaid with betrayal?

And besides, the judge certainly hadn't had to allow him to make this trek back home alone. No matter what the man had said, he could easily have picked up the phone and arranged things with Dalem, and none of this would've been necessary.

_It's a test_, McCormick concluded with sudden certainty. And though a part of him thought maybe he should be offended, the whole idea seemed too logical to argue with.

"Besides," he muttered aloud, "it's a test for you, too, Hardcase." He glanced once more at the police officers behind him. "You better get me out of this."

And he pushed the accelerator closer to the floor and continued west toward LA.

00000

There had been thirty minutes of friendly chitchat after they'd loaded into the pickup truck and headed west, and several more minutes of companionable silence. There had been no hint of concern from the driver until he glanced at his passenger and said, "So, do you think he'll make it on time?"

"Oh, sure," Barbara Johnson answered easily. "You've probably never had a chance to see him drive, but he's really good and—" She broke off suddenly and looked at the judge more closely.

"Oh." Her eyes drew together and the friendly smile faded from her face. "You mean, do I think he's going back?"

Hardcastle nudged his shoulders into a small shrug and muttered defensively, "Well you know him better than I do." He didn't bother explaining that sending McCormick speeding across the desert was just about the surest way of keeping an eye on the ex-con even when they were separated by hundreds of miles. He was pretty sure that his intention to take care of any problems after the fact wouldn't buy him much of a reprieve from Barbara's anger once she realized he'd known the kid's dash back to LA would attract the attention of just about every highway patrolman between here and there, ensuring that any change of direction would be duly noted.

"So why'd you let him go," Barbara demanded, "if you don't trust him?"

"I don't know him well enough to trust him," Hardcastle replied without apology. He hesitated, then added, "But he hasn't really done anything to make me _dis_trust him."

The young woman seemed to relax a bit, and the smile returned. "He's going back, Judge," she assured the man. "I've never known Mark to lie."

"Really?" The single word was out before Hardcastle had a chance to moderate the disbelief in his tone, but then he had the decency to be embarrassed by his bluntness. "I didn't mean . . . I mean, it's not that I think . . . I'm not implying that . . ."

Barbara laughed. "That's okay, Judge, I know what you mean. He'll run his mouth, and he'll work just about any angle he can find, but he won't lie to you. You made a deal, and he'll keep his part of the bargain. You don't ever have to worry about that."

Hardcastle darted a quick look over at the sincerity on her face, then breathed out a small sigh of relief. "He's going back," he said firmly, and allowed himself to believe.

00000

A few miles down the road, Hardcastle pulled off the highway at a small convenience store and went inside to make a phone call.

And somewhere across the state line in California, Mark McCormick smiled as he watched the patrol cars in his rearview mirror slow, then fade from view.


End file.
